


APHRODITE

by aphrodite_areia



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_areia/pseuds/aphrodite_areia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fuck. Babe, I'm sorry. Please don't--"</p><p>She raises a hand to stop him, and that panic turns to dread, but he keeps his mouth shut and watches. Waiting. Waiting for the fucking executioner with his hand gripping the one that wasn't telling him to shut up--</p><p>"I used to be able to be really fucking pretty, John."</p><p>(written for FKM, edited and reposted here)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beauty

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy!!

When he took her aside to speak with her, she didn't know what to expect. As his words came forth, steady and -- could she even say -- practiced? -- steady, and practiced --

When his words came forth she realized she was barely listening to the story because she was too caught up in his expressions, the gravelly rise and fall of his tone of voice, the way his eyes kept glancing at her lips -- there. He did it again and she bit her cheek, painfully aware of the darker hairs she'd be unable to pluck or bleach since before the war sprinkled across her upper lip.

When his words came forth there came a point where his storytelling managed to suck her in anyway. It was always like that -- he made her uncomfortable and at ease all at once. He struck her as perhaps a more loyal, more gentlemanly man than -- dare she say -- Nate even was, but at the same time, those dark eyes of his sent a ripple of fear down her back.

What if she lost him? Lost this closeness, this constant presence? She had long since realized that, despite being idolized and demonized in equal measure by the Commonwealth's general populace, she was not as independent as she seemed. Her spine was wound up and twisted around this man's presence, the core and the anchor of her soul growing over the vestiges of him like the white roses that once grew in front of her bedroom window (she cried for an hour when she remembered their existence only to find them dead (he rested his hand on her shoulder when he found her there; she quieted nearly instantly)), thorns and blossoms and all.

When his words came forth and she had realized she'd missed half of what he said, she began to listen again, her eyes barely seeing him, her mouth dry.

"It's like I found a part of myself I never knew I was missing..."

Her eyes snap up to his. Warmth -- fucking burning -- pooling in her chest, repeating a mantra of "holy fuck" in her head.

_...Is this happening?_

"You have been one hell of a friend."

Having anticipated the wicked high of a love confession, she feels her limbs go numb when she hears herself asking if they could be more.

He doesn't miss one fucking beat before side-stepping gracefully with a self-deprecating comment, still acknowledging her, still giving her an out. His gaze makes her feel hunted and safe all at once.

Prey, predator, lover, executioner. He understood the dichotomies that gave her comfort, humming love songs in ruins and hiding her eyes from friendly crowds.

His smile looks like an apology from God, and there's a fleeting moment where she's sure it was fucking worth it to get into that cryo chamber.

She manages to come up with something stupid to say to get her point across --

"I've fallen for you."

\-- and somehow, he doesn't notice the stiffness in her voice (or maybe he does?) and keeps talking about how he feels, about how lucky he is, how happy he is.

She has never been more terrified, and certainly never more sure.


	2. BEAST

He had intended for it to be a confession, but here he fucking is, pouring his heart out and then chickening out at the last fucking second. He tells her he always runs from important things, and she reassures him. He believes her even though he is literally running (figuratively running (his mouth)) as they speak. 

Mother _fucker_ is he ever goddamn terrified of this woman. She was just a domestic goddess once (she cried over dead roses, not that he blamed her) but here she is, killing anything that looks at him the wrong way and then whipping up something to eat at the end of the day, the soft pout of her lips as she concentrates ruining his appetite for anything other than her touch -- mother fucker. _Mother fucker_.

Impressed he's managed to keep talking while daydreaming, he tries in vain to say what he means.

"It's like I found a part of myself I never knew I was missing..."

It doesn't matter what he says, so he says everything, because he can't just come out and say he wants her hands on his scarred throat, that he wants to fuck her until she doesn't remember enough to hurt anymore, that he wants his arms around her waist and in her hair and to just hold her until she stops being so fucking afraid of everything, stops being afraid of him.

But when she meets his eyes, that _god damned look_ that says "I Am Listening To Every Word", it's game over. He can't say what he wishes he could and he cops the fuck out.

How do you tell a goddess you love her?

"You've been one hell of a friend."

He already feels the bile rising in his throat until she speaks up, voice more timid than he has ever heard it.

"Have you ever thought of us as... more?"

There's nothing, for a moment.

Then his heart is beating impossibly fast, and he smirks.

"That obvious, huh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i remember seeing a picture of a rat that was like 45 pounds and the size of a dog and i immediately said "look at this picture of me" to no one, because i was alone in my bed filled with crumbs and candy wrappers


	3. poet

Back at Red Rocket, buried under salvaged blankets, Hancock presses kisses to her neck, running the ruined skin of his cheek back and forth against the flesh and her slow pulse. She's fine with him close like this, just not looking -- no details, just a hazy glow and the fog of intimacy.

It's when he reaches for her face, for her hips, for the zipper on her pants, that she starts to worry. Her hands shake. She grips his wrist, guiding him back up, and he lets out a patient breath.

"What's the problem, doll?"

She just shakes her head, not meeting his eyes.

Running his fingers through her hair, he presses a kiss to the shell of her ear.

"Listen, love. I ain't one to press people who don't wanna be pressed, but as you could probably imagine--" he pauses to bring her hands to his mouth, speaking into her fingers, "I can't help but worry a bit with the thousand-yard stare, there."

She doesn't respond, embarrassment flushing her neck and ears.

He swallows quickly.

"Listen, babe, if this physical shit is too much for now -- or even too much for you, just say the word. I know bein' with a ghoul has gotta get--"

She sits up abruptly, nearly knocking him off the bed, and turns her back to him.

Fuck. Her eyes are already starting to well up. It was different with Nate -- having been together for so long, she had stopped micro-managing, stopped self-monitoring every last detail. She didn't care about stray hairs or smudged makeup when she had given someone a child.

But this? There were simply no usable razors to be found, no makeup in anyone's shade, let alone hers. She had tried to do eyeliner a week ago and it had broken her heart. Being able to pull herself from some average-looking girl to some kind of ethereal thing with her eyes done up big and wide was a shield for her, a wall to--

His voice rings out again with a quiet apology.

The way he hangs it in the air like that, so suddenly fragile, breaks her in an instant, and she keels over, hot tears spilling before she can stop them, teeth clenched with a silent scream of frustration and anger and desperation caught between them.

His arms wrap around her waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really sad because someday jokes like "i am the suffering man and these are my suffering hands" will stop being funny........i dont want them to be the next "old joke". i want them to be ironically funny forever. why must we hurt what we love
> 
> also for the first on-topic note of the night, id pay out the fucking ass to be able to hang out with hancock


	4. EXECUTIONER

Here he finally is, touching her and tasting her and fucking _inhaling_ the scent of her skin, soft as clouds, soft as the way she had looked at him today that he keeps playing over and over again in his head.

Every possible texture of soft -- he even presses his scarred mouth to the pulse of her neck and even that is soft, insistent, singing.

 _Fuck_ if he wouldn't give her the world if she asked for it. 

Caught again in his thoughts, he realizes she's barely reciprocating, and shame weighs on him until he acknowledges that, yes, his very flesh could be turning her right the fuck off.

God fucking damn.

He swallows quickly.

"Listen, babe, if this physical shit is too much for now -- or even too much for you, just say the word. I know bein' with a ghoul has gotta get--"

She sits up abruptly, nearly knocking him off the bed, and turns her back to him.

He would have said a prayer if he fucking knew one. It is dead silent for a solid three minutes before he works up the nerve to speak, and even then it's just a half-assed whisper with his eyes closed.

"I'm sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, my favourite ironic "suffering" or "sinning" meme is that one where the flowers are singing "the sins of our forefathers bind us to the dirt". i try to say that in real life and it never makes people laugh. why


	5. sour

When Hancock opens his eyes again it's to the shock of her doubling over and he wants to fucking punch himself. More for himself than her he wraps his arms around her waist, and it's this contact that causes her to finally gasp in air, heaving and sobbing in messy, muffled breaths. Panic rises in his throat as he looks her up and down, 

"Fuck. Babe, I'm sorry. Please don't--"

She raises a hand to stop him, and that panic turns to dread, but he keeps his mouth shut and watches. Waiting. Waiting for the fucking executioner with his hand gripping the one that wasn't telling him to shut up--

"I used to be able to be really fucking pretty, John."

Hancock goes numb and takes his hand back slowly, trying desperately to understand what the fuck she means.

She takes a deep breath down to her toes.

"I used to be able to doll myself up like nothing else. Pre-war there were 20 different things you could buy to make your skin softer, to shave your legs, to highlight your face, to widen your eyes. I used to look incredible some nights."

He's pulling away but still touching her and he can't let go.

"But being with you like this makes me so angry."

There's ice in his veins. He needs to go take a Med-X break, fucking immediately. Anything to stop this. But she's still talking and he's still touching her.

"You're confident enough to be with me with half of your skin burned to nothing and I can't get over the fact that I haven't fixed my eyebrows in a month, or that I haven't..." She trails off, uncomfortable.

Hancock's turn to sit up abruptly comes, and so he does. The bed creaks.

"What?"

She looks at him blankly.

"Doll," he says, processing her words as his hand comes up to cup her cheek, "are you telling me you're just self-conscious?"

She grits her teeth. "It's not 'just'."

He puts his hands up gently. "Alright, yes. Not what I meant. But much better than the alternative, which for your information is the one where you tell me to get the fuck outta here because I gross you out."

Her eyes meet his in shock and immediately pool with tears again.

"W-what?? Is that what you thought?" 

The fear drips off of her low voice so he cradles her head to his shoulder, murmuring.

"Look, doll. You've found yourself in a time where that sort of shit doesn't matter. That should be a relief in and of itself, but I wanna make it clear that you wouldn't be obligated to do jack shit even if we were both kickin' it pre-war. That good enough for ya?"

She sniffs, clearing her throat quietly. 

He sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i unironically love the song "tunak tunak tun" and everything about the music video. i cant even pretend im joking when i listen to it but my seriousness comes across as a joke. i always succeed............


	6. sweet

"Listen," he says, and he cups her cheek, gentle and firm, soft and scarred.

"You grew up someplace completely different from the place I did. I heard some shit about what happened pre-war, and I hope you'll tell me about it one day. Just so you know," He pauses here to press a kiss to her forehead, surprising her slightly, and he chuckles.

"Just so you know, you're the most beautiful thing out here. I don't know what they told you before you got in that Vault, and I don't know if something changed, but I've watched the look in your eyes when you ---" He trails off, sighs, then adjusts himself so he's facing her, looking at her, so close to her face, to every imperfection.

"I've seen the look in your eyes when you see something good in this world. I've been right next to you with the wind fucking up your hair, with your gaze down a barrel. And let me tell you, the first time I saw you kill someone, I didn't know if I wanted to fuck you until you couldn't walk or wrap you up in my arms and sleep next to you until this world is as good as you deserve it to be."

His eyes dart between hers, watching color rise in her cheeks as she thinks, watching her head tilt back slightly to begin to speak. 

He waits a full three minutes. So much Jet in his life has made him very aware of the passage of time.

She finally meets his eyes. He almost wants to look away from her gaze when he processes how raw it is, like it's something private, even though she's here and just fucking looking at him.

"Did they see that, doll? Because if they were caught up in whether or not you look like a pinup," he finally breaks her stare, seeing his own fear, his own hope in her eyes, "They would have missed it."

She looks at him, her chest on fire and her heart beating loud in its cage like a battle drum. There's no fucking way he can't hear it, so she covers it up with words.

"You're beautiful, too, John."

He shoots her a broken smile.

"Nice one, angel, but you can't turn this around on me. This mug has a reputation, and it isn't--" He stops abruptly because her hands are suddenly on his face, along his jaw, fingers gracing his neck. She takes advantage of the silence.

"John. You're beautiful by your own definition. Shut the fuck up."

He chuckles, and she feels warmth under her hands before he pushes through them to drag their battered bodies down to lay, cradling her head under his chin, feeling like he could cry.

It's been a long time since he let out the waterworks over anything, but fuck if this isn't a good reason, he thinks, but he can't quite finish the thought before those soft lips are on his neck, warm and wet. Can't quite stop the moan from half-escaping, and can't stop the second one when she bites at the sound.

He goes to speak, pulling her head reluctantly from her position and brushing the hair from her eyes.

"We all got troubles, sister, but you and me together? We might just get through 'em."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i play the peanut butter jelly time song really loud over your computer speakers) bush did 9/11


	7. inhale

The smile she gives him is so sincere, so relieved, so fucking wicked when her eyes trail to his mouth that it lights his fucking soul on fire.

His hands are on her in a fucking instant, grasping at every soft mound of flesh, scraping against every jut of bone, teeth at her neck and moaning like a god damn virgin whenever she sighs near his ear. He brushes his fingers past her stomach, past the hair trailing down from her navel, feeling her tense suddenly.

"Hey, doll..."

His voice rumbles, low and powerful, an earthquake.

The breathlessness of her reply sends him reeling.

"John?"

He pulls his hand from her waistband to grab hers and press kisses to her fingers, on each digit, on each knuckle.

"I'm thinkin' you've had a long night, and we should slow down."

"Don't get me wrong," he continues when her eyes panic for a moment, "I fuckin' want you. But I wanna make sure you don't show me anything you're not ready to, ya know? We already went from zero to a hundred today as it is."

She ponders, then nods, curling up into a more comfortable position against him.

"That's fine."

He lets out a relieved, comfortable sigh, trailing his fingers down her jawline, watching her watch him.

Maybe tomorrow, or in an hour. But right now she's looking at him like he's the one thing holding her to this earth with her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, gaze hazy.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, "Are you sure you were in a Vault that whole time?"

"What do you mean?" She meets his eyes.

He taps her chin.

"I mean, I'm thinkin' you're an angel or something. The way you--" she's on top of him in an instant, pressing her hands to his mouth, giving a crooked and stifled smile. Her eyes widen before she glares playfully.

"You'd better cut that shit out before you spoil me."

He gives her a playful glare right back as he peels her hands away from his face.

"That's the plan, doll. Anyway, as I was saying--" 

She cuts him off with her lips, soft and insistent. He mumbles through the kiss.

"Okay, maybe this was the plan. I like this one."

She smiles, and he smiles, and it's fucking beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i accidentally originally posted this as just "chapter 7" so there was a buncha poetic shit and then that like
> 
> poet..........EXECUTIONER..............sour..............sweet..........................................Chapter 7
> 
> wow im done!!!!!! helo and thank u my kiddos. i hope you enjoy. i posted this on the fallout kink meme originally but if ANYONE wants to continue this with some smut or anything even longer than that i'm always 100% down. take my ideas and run with them. just dont make millions off of my secret idea to................shit........i almost told you the secret idea.......but i didn't...... heh heh. >: ^)

**Author's Note:**

> i love weed


End file.
